Noir - Nyo France x England
by swaginski
Summary: After getting upset over Arthur's absence, Francine had decided to clog her heart out with multiple bottles of champagne. In a drunken daze, Francine ends up taking a walk, and it isn't a very good idea. Leaving her troubles behind on an adventure; it left Arthur in worry, and as a gentlemen, It is his job to find his beloved French Madame.


It was 8 pm, and the sounds of city life whispered in through her open window.

It was a lonely night, and the smell of expensive champagne reeked throughout her bedroom. Her emotions flooded down her cheeks and left wet markings on her sleek silk pillows.

She had promised to herself she would not get worked up about things like this. If she were to spend her life alone then so be it, she would have to get used to it. Yet to see others happier than she was, and to have to witness such joy that she had only dreamed of, and she couldn't have, made her heart ache in desperation. Even so, she did have somebody, but he was never around. Maybe he was seeing someone else. Maybe he didn't care she was like this. Dread pulled her inner heartstrings.

She took another sip of her bubbly and let it sink in. It made her throat ache of alcohol and her vision blurry, her mind race and her heart to desperately twinge. She had never wanted any of this, and her tears felt like bullets down her rosy cheeks. Her face was wet and puffy, and the blackness of the mascara under her eyes and down her cheeks had made her bambi eyes look like what of a raccoon, and she faced her mess of a reflection in a mirror. Her heart was in shambles and every second that went past she felt another shard of her heart slowly disintegrate into nothingness.

She looked out her window in despair, as the cars went by and the lights slowly blinded her. The streetlights had been turned on, causing a spectrum of lights to be replayed in her memory. This reminded her of their first date; strolling down the streets of London with ice cream in their hands and nothing to lose. She missed those first days. She thought it would last forever. She thought he'd be around all the time, yet she was horribly wrong. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Every day felt like a year without him around. She had missed the sound of his voice dreadfully. It had given her no choice but to clog her emotions out with countless bottles of champagne.

She hung her head low and looked to the ground. Her floor was newly cleaned, for she always cleans when she's stressed out, or sad, and fortunately she had laundered the whole house. She thought silently to herself. Abruptly, an idea popped into her mind plundered with unhappy thoughts. Perhaps she should take a walk. Take her mind off things. Even if she was alone, she'd still be able to witness the world she still lived in. Luckily. She was unsure if she could do this much longer. But nonetheless, maybe a short walk would help clear her clouded thoughts.

She scrambled across her room; still groggily drunk; and grabbed her jacket off the hook she hung on her vintage-themed wall. Shoving her shoes on, her long gold locks seemed to get in her makeup ridden face. She struggled for a long moment.

Luckily, she had gotten past the door-frame, walking into walls at every direction, she had grabbed another bottle of Noir and headed out the front door. The cold wind blew in her face. It was a hassle to slide her jacket on; for she had put it on backwards, and was stumbling from place to place to try to catch her balance. She probably looked like trash as she unmindfully scampered from place to place. Being drunk in a public area was one thing she hated, yet she needed some fresh air. Her face was still stained with black mascara markings down her cheeks, and as she wiped her tears off with the sleeve of her blouse; her damp concealer had made marks on the wool. A bottle of Noir in her hands, she did the best she could not to let it fall to the ground and break, for the champagne was quite expensive. Even though she had a plunder of money in her bank, Noir was 20$ per bottle; considering she could finish an entire bottle alone in under one sitting.

Acquiring indistinct looks from some townsfolk as they strolled along; minding their own business, she stared them straight in the eye and mumbled a small "what are you looking at?" under her breath. Francine was known to obtain mood swings from drunkenness, due to her dramatic nature; and that didn't help at all.

She glanced over a bit and a sudden thought entered her mind. The park was just minutes away, maybe she could go there! There most-likely not a lot of people there at 8 pm, so not many townsfolk would have to witness the mess she was. Genius.

She rebelliously jay-walked absent-mindlessly across the street, leaving cars abruptly halted and horns blaring in her ears. She had no idea what kind of commotion she was causing. She was too intoxicated to notice a thing. A mass of people yelled at her in anger, saying words like "YOU'RE DRUNK, GO HOME." but she wouldn't let the haters get her down. She ran down the streets at full force, dodging others as she adventurously made her way down the sidewalk. Some men whistled, a woman scoffed, and muffled words directed towards her rang in the distance. She wasn't aware that in real life, she wasn't running down the streets eagerly, she had been bumping into masses of people and walls, and right as that thought entered her head she was faced into a large cold pole. She winced.

Her ears rung and she rubbed her temple that was throbbing from the direct hit to the face by a merciless pole. "OWW." She yelled. Yet, the pain in her temple wasn't going to stop her from making a complete fool of herself. She dashed at full speed down the confusing road, and the now blurry sign to the park made her burst with joy. She made it. Without falling, hitting her head, throwing up, or being hospitalized. God bless.

She headed into the newly made park that was radiant with tender lighting, yet her vision was blurry and she hadn't had the chance to evaluate its beauty. Multiple people who were trailing along had fixated their eyes on the garbage she was, and her anxiety peeked in through the inner drunken daze. She looked like she was in the music video for Marina and the Diamond's song _Shampain._ Except she wasn't welsh, nor had brown hair, and wasn't a Primadonna.

That was the moment she felt white blotches cover her eyesight, and quickly hovered over a bench before blacking out.

Arthur paused.

It had been weeks since he had been in this familiar house, and it had been weeks since he had seen his dearest Francine. Her house reeked of champagne and her kitchen had been loitered, with clothes on the floor, and the door widely open. His heart sunk. Was she secretly having an affair? That was the first thought that popped into his mind.

"Francine?" He bellowed curiously. No answer.

"Francine are you in here?" Still; no answer. He sighed. Scanning around the house for a bit, he had come to the conclusion that she wasn't there, and the countless bottles of Noir made him quite nervous. They looked newly emptied, and the newly made lipstick stains on the bottle made his heart flutter. If only she'd do the same things to him.

He thought densely. If she wasn't here, and is most likely drunk, where else would she be? His heart sunk even lower. Even worse; what if she did something stupid? What if she had killed herself? He knew what the situation called for. A wide search of the area.

He had done this before; he had lots of alcoholic friends, and knew how to find them. They usually stumbled into bars for more wine, gas stations, taxis, and most likely parks. He smothered his despair with hope, and set out on a mission to find his beloved French madame. The Super Mario theme song played in his mind as he thought about jay-walking, but was too much of a wuss to actually do something rebellious. Thug Lyfe.

He swayed as he waited for the pedestrian light to turn on, and he walked across the street like a boss. He was going to show up and save the day. He was going to be the hero. And Francine is going to love it.

He daydreamed as he walked, about him showing up and Francine swooning in his arms. "_Arthur, marry me!~" _She spoke sweetly in his thoughts. A smug grin appeared on his face. He was going to eradicate that pussy.

He blushed at the thought. He sought to check the park since it was closer away.

The faces of people walking by appeared in his mind. He imagined Francine doing the same thing, but instead of walking like a normal human being, she drunkenly stumbled along like a freaking animal. He laughed. People glanced at him as they walked by, their curious eyes glancing at everything around them. He seemed to notice every single detail. Every star in the sky, every person, and even the ground for God's sake. It was almost 9:30 PM yet he had still gotten nowhere.

He could see the sign in the distance from where he was, and joyfully started to run. If she was there, he had to get there as fast as he could, because God knows what she could be doing, or the state she was in. "Francine Bonnefoy, I'm coming!" He said hopefully to himself. She doubted she was there, yet a pang of hope in his expectations kept him going. He sprinted full speed towards the park gate, and his heart pounded as he walked inside. He peered around, and his eyes trailed to a blonde figure lying hopelessly on a park bench.

_It was her._

He was so happy he almost laughed.

Yet his smile started to fade as he noticed the state she was in.

Her hair was knotted and mascara flooded down her cheeks. She must have been sleeping there a long time, because people started to throw money at her thinking she was a homeless beggar. His heart sunk once more. His poor Francine.

Another bottle of Noir was next to her on the bench, and her clothes were tattered and she looked like a drunken mess. He just wanted to kiss her face until she was sad no more. His heart shattered into pieces. Maybe he had done this. The thought of her crying over him and clogging out her arteries because of something he had probably done made tears well up in his eyes. He walked towards her solemnly and looked at her close up. She hadn't moved.

She looked unconscious due to intoxication and her ears were a decent shade of red. He pushed the hair out of her face and looked at her sweetly. This was his Francine. His happy, loving, absolutely stunning Francine, who was the most amazing woman he had ever met in his entire life. Yet she was lying there, like a broken record, looking like a train-wreck and made people think she was homeless and looking for a good time. My stars, his heart hung heavy. He knew what he had to do. He had to get her out of here.

He picked her up bridal style and held her in his arms. She was light, yet having her close made heat rush up to his face. Confidence welled up in his heart, and looked at her limp face in his grasp. He grinned. He was the hero for once. He is going to save the day, one damsel in distress at a time. Of course she was his damsel. It was his job as the gentleman to be the one to her rescue. He held her damp cheeks once more, his thumb smeared some of the mascara on her cheeks. She was so beautiful anyways, even though her face looked like road-kill, she still looked like she could be on the cover of vogue. She was flawless without thought or action, she was just so naturally perfect and symmetrical, and her lips looked soft and plush. Her lips were so irresistible, and just looking at them made him want to desperately kiss her for hours and hours and hear her soft moans once more. His blush only grew.

Anyways, he was cut out of his daydream mid-way when he realized he had to take her home. He had to get her out of this public place, so he could kiss her and make sure everything was going to be alright. She deserved perfection, and he promised himself to give it to her. He managed to start treading on the path back to her humble abode. He was going to take her home, get her comfortable, and stay there for as much as she needed him to. He had realized after those weeks of being absent, that to be in a healthy thriving relationship with someone; you had to give and take. Arthur had realized that maybe he took more than he gave, and when he knocked on her door at 9:00 PM and had the door fling open, he was expecting to make it up to her. Nonetheless, he had kind of been making it up to her, by taking her home in the middle of the night and saving her from humiliation; but still. He hadn't been there for her when she needed him most. And that's why he had to do something.

He had gotten obviously strange looks from people walking by. Mostly because he was an average looking man, dressed up in a fashionable tweed coat and undershirt, 'Sunday best' pants and shoes; holding a woman who looked like death in his arms, raccoon eyes and a bottle of champagne in her hand, and messy hair and makeup that had dripped off due to her tears. Some teenagers that had passed by stifled a laugh, but Arthur smothered his sudden anger and kept walking, paying no attention to the crowd that had seemed to be watching his every move. The crosswalk light turned on, letting him walk across the street to where her house was, and every step he took towards her house made his heart rate increase by 20%. Perhaps he had succeeded in his act of Heroism. Maybe she'd wake up and slap him in the face; who knows. However, he did know that she was an amazing person having to deal with such a man like himself. He had to do something in return.

The door was still unlocked, and he made his way through the door-frame and into the messy kitchen. It was still a sty, but he knew that she wasn't like this all the time. She was actually very neat, but perhaps not when wasted. He stepped up the marble staircase. Her house quite fancy, yet in her dedication to her alcohol, she had successfully made a muddle of something that seemed impossible. The marble glistened in the light emitted by the chandelier. After he had reached the top of the stairs, he had finally made it to the lengthy hallway, and he stared at the door to her bedroom. Even if he had been helping an intoxicated, unconscious woman get back on her feet; this was the first time he had ever been taking a woman into her bedroom. Christ, he was such a virgin.

His hand shook as his turned the doorknob, and glanced around at the newly-made mess that was her bedroom. Clothes, tissues, empty wine bottles, hollowed out chocolate ice cream cartons, and romance novels over her night-stand, made up the untidy space. He understood she probably wasn't expecting company. He knew what he had to do. Placing the unaware; helpless woman on her bed-sheets, he made sure that she looked comfortable. Arthur, being the excessively neat man he is, tidied up her room a bit. He had found some things that he shouldn't have found under her bed, however, and simply trotted off to nicely manage somewhere else. He forged himself to simply forget about it.

Following the last act of cleaning her room, his eyes shifted towards her. She still looked rough, and he knew she wouldn't want to look rough, so he thought for a moment. Not only should he clean her room, he should probably clean her face. She still had makeup smothered across her still-drying face. There was something he had to do.

The bathroom, which was across the hall, had loathing amounts of soothing facial creams, and the towels were soft like linen and smelled of fresh lilac. It was the only room in the house that was not a in a jumble. He took one of the lilac-scented towels and run it under warm-water. He then proceeded back into her room, and sat near her face. It gave him time to observe her facial features once more.

He wiped the moist towel against the smudges and did the best he could to get it off; and in his triumph, he had got most of it. Now, her eyes did not look like a raccoon's, yet her face was dazzling under the lighting of her bedroom. If only she was awake. She was sleeping deeply- no, cross that, she was knocked-out dreamily, and she looked absolutely beautiful just lying there silently, no movement at all. Francine looked like she was out of a painting. Almost like sleeping beauty; with her blonde luscious curls lying behind her. Absolutely perfect. Arthur was in awe.

He planted a kiss on her forehead before lying next to her.

Not only was it 11:00 pm, his house was miles away, and he was in no energy to go drive back home. He had to hear her. He at least had to talk to her before he left. Yet, in his case, she was still unconscious, so the only thing he could do was stay the night; make sure she didn't wake up and hurt herself without him knowing. He turned to face her.

He felt quite awkward sharing a bed with her the first time. Even if she wasn't awake, the anxiety came naturally to him, and the only way he could feel comfortable was to hold something. Warm hugs can easily cure anxiety. Especially if it was with the woman he loved. Still, she wouldn't move, as he draped his arms around her and held Francine close. It was nice to be around her, and the way her skin felt when it touched his. He loved the sensation his heart was creating. He felt affectionate and soft. For a long moment, he closed his eyes, and awaited for the moment that she would awaken.

Francine nearly gasped. She had awoken to a warm sensation all over her body; and she looked up to see that she was in her bedroom. She felt someone next to her, and saw that it was Arthur.

_It was Arthur._

Was this a dream? Had she been dreaming?

She paused.

This all seemed so real.

All of the moments leading up from the time she blacked out replayed in her memory. Oh no.

Yet he was there, holding onto her softly, and her heart welled up with affection. Had he seen her like this? Did she still look like a mess? Her room looked cleaner than before. She was so heavily bewildered. He must have been sleeping, yet he was still in his clothes, and so was she. She was wearing the same thing she was wearing that night. Her clock read 2:45 AM. She turned around to face him. His eyes were closed, and his average, yet handsome looking face made her heart race. She was in the same bed as Arthur Kirkland.

_She was in the same bed as Arthur Kirkland._

She held him closer, taking in this moment as it lasted. His eyes fluttered open.

"Francine!" he gasped, hugging onto her tightly. He whispered a gentle "My stars, I was so worried about you" into her ear. A blush lined across her face.

"Arthur, what happened?" she asked worriedly; looking into his emerald eyes of his. Arthur was so happy to see her violet eyes again.

He explained everything about how he had come over to make it up for her, the search in which he found her lying on a park bench, and how he had picked her up and brought her home. He also told her about how he had cleaned her room. Francine's face paled, yet a smile appeared on her face so quickly it was almost necessary. "I did all this because I love you."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she cried happily into his shoulder.

At first, Arthur was shocked. He had suddenly been so happy but then she started crying, as he contemplated the reasons why. Oh right, she must have been happy too. Yet why? Why was she crying? Did she miss him? Oh no, did she actually do all that because of him?

His only reaction was that he petted her head and held her even closer. "Shh.." He said calmly. "It's alright now."

She had left tear marks on his jacket, but he didn't care. He'd take a bullet for Francine, and a wet-marked jacket any day of the week.

"Arthur," she smiled, "I love you so much."

His smile only grew. Francine kissed his lips.

"I thought you'd never come back."


End file.
